


Tattoos and Tailpipes

by CuriosityRedux



Series: Dragon Drabbles Modern [13]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Tattoo AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-09-01 04:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityRedux/pseuds/CuriosityRedux
Summary: Astrid wasn't expecting to like any relative of Snotlout's. But this one seems okay.





	1. Tattoos

**Tattoos**

**-**

She snorted at him the first time he walked in. All long skinny legs and sharp elbows and reddish brown hair that stuck up in every direction. She was leaning over the back counter, chatting with a regular who’d come in for some work on his sleeve, and her head snapped up reflexively at the sound of the door chime. 

“This is the place,” Snotlout Jorgenson announced with a sigh as he walked in behind the tall guy, arms spread and breathing deeply. “I wouldn’t get tatted anywhere else… Hey, Astrid! Looking hot this evening!”

She pushed up on the counter, giving him a half wave. Snot had been in a few times. She’d done all the work on the underside of his forearms. He’d been banned from her chair, though, after asking if he could specially request her for some work _below the belt_. It wasn’t so much _that_ he asked but _how_ he asked. She’d referred him to Eret ever since. 

“I’ll get it,” she murmured, and her coworker gave a distracted _mmph_ from over the buzz of his gun. Straightening her ponytail, she crossed to the front register and looked between the two guys. “Sup, Snot? Eret’s busy, so it’s gonna be about a forty-five minute wait.”

“Not here for me,” he answered, shaking his head. He jabbed a thumb at the guy he’d come in with. “This is my cousin, Hiccup. He’s wanting something on his back.”

She’d raised her eyebrows but pulled out the paperwork and stuck it to a clipboard. Snotlout’s cousin— Hiccup— looked more suited to a science lab than a tattoo parlor. In a t-shirt reading, “May the f=ma be with you,” and glasses, Hiccup gave off a smart but nerdy trying-to-appear-manlier-than-I-actually-am vibe. 

“What are you considering?” she asked as she opened a new set of needles and prepped her station. 

Hiccup pulled a square of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it, sliding it over the counter towards her. She paused in her work to lean over and check out the drawing— it was a silhouette of what looked like a dragon. Solid black, with wide wings spread as if in flight. Nothing fancy. Probably something from a video game or anime. 

“How big? Four inches? Five?”

“As big as you can fit, please.”

Astrid blinked up at him. His face was solemn, no hint of jest in his expression. Even Snotlout seemed reserved, for once. He’d walked over to a binder of old commissions. She did a quick scan of the skin peeking out from Hiccup’s t-shirt. No other work that she could see. First timer?

“That’s a lot of black work,” she informed him flatly. “I’m not going to be able to finish this tonight. You’re probably looking at about three sessions— maybe more if you’re not good with pain. It’ll be expensive, too.”

It was his turn to lift his brows at her. “And you don’t want that job?”

She held her hands out in defense. “Hey, I’m not saying I won’t do it. I’m just saying— it’s a big project. Especially if you’re not used to tattoos.”

“I’ll be okay.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a little smirk. He took a couple steps back and tugged at the leg of his jeans— a shiny prosthetic winked in the florescent lights. “I’m not unfamiliar with pain.”

Huh. Neat. She gave him a tilt of her head as if to say _fair enough_ and then returned to prepping her station. Then she disappeared to the back to blow up his image and print it onto stencil paper. After beckoning him behind the counter and having him remove his shirt, she put him in front of the wall mirror and gave him the handled one. He approved the size (enormous) and positioning (starting at the nape of his neck and ending somewhere down by his tailbone), and she gave him a gentle push towards her chair. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling her rolling stool underneath her. “Straddle it.”

Astrid _heard_ the breath Snotlout took with too much excitement. From the other side of the shop, Eret shouted, “Yes, _that_ counts as sexual harassment!”

Hiccup was covered with freckles. That was the first thing she’d noticed when he took off his shirt. He wasn’t as skinny as he’d first appeared in his baggy physics tee— noodley but not unattractively so. He had some muscle in his arms and torso— he wasn’t completely skin and bones. But the freckles sprayed across his shoulders and down his upper arms and back. Little moles spotted here and there. That’s what she noticed first. 

“Okeydoke,” she mumbled after wrestling with the stencil (she repositioned and adjusted it twice before she was happy). Her gun buzzed to life in her hand. “Ready?”

Hiccup grinned— she could see it despite the way he faced the opposite wall. “Bring it on.”

That was the first time. He’d flinched when the gun first touched his skin, but that was it. It was a little impressive— skinny guys had less fat to cushion the needles, so it was mostly bone and muscle. All fun, painful stuff. She made small talk with him as she worked, learned about his physics degree and the garage he half-ran with his godfather. She told him about her other part-time job as a personal trainer and the classes she was taking on the side. All the while, she and Hiccup both blew off Snotlout’s sexist or generally offensive comments. The cousins were polar opposites, so far as she was concerned. 

She traced the dragon’s outline and outfitted him with a geometric pattern that she could fill in as she went. Hiccup was perfectly patient and thanked her politely before he left. 

The second time he came in, he was shrugging out of a black leather jacket and grinning. Snotlout wasn’t with him, but he was wearing another dorky shirt. This one read, “The frequency of this pun hertz.” _  
_

“Hey,” he greeted, shaking the rain from his hair and beating drops from his jacket.

“Hey!” she called back. She was leaning over a butterfly and jotting out some swirly script. “Take a seat, I’ll be right there!”

That was more fun, that session. He was in a good mood, and he joked with her as he crawled onto her chair for the second time. Despite the rain, he smelled like leather and smoke, a combination she found very enticing as she leaned over his back.

“Holy— _Odin’s hairy balls_!” 

He swore when she started the black work. It cracked her up, and she had to pull away to keep from accidentally inking somewhere she didn’t mean to mark. “Felt that one, huh?” she teased, giggling and nodding. 

He gave her an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry. Fuck. Now I get the multiple session thing.”

Astrid dabbed her rag across his skin, wiping away the excess ink. “You asked for it.”

"Yeah… I’m good. Go ahead.”

The rest of the session was amusing and… interesting. Hiccup was still a better client than a lot of the veterans she’d had in her chair. He didn’t squirm too much, and he didn’t ever ask her to wait or stop. His fingers dug into the chair’s cushion, white knuckled and trembling when it really hurt. He held his breath and muttered funny comments that she could barely hear over her gun. He was an easy job.

At one point, Eret walked through the front door, glancing out into the misty rain. “Hey, whose bike parked out front?”

She was utterly shocked to see Hiccup throw his hand up.

“Seriously?” Eret looked back outside and whistled low. “What’s the torque on that dame?”

Astrid stole a glance at Hiccup’s proud smirk. It was a little… attractive. “About a hundred. I work at a garage— fun discounts on parts.”

Her coworker shook his head and made a little noise of impressed admiration. “Any man who can wrangle that kind of engine is alright by me.” Then he waved a hand at Astrid and continued inside.

She scooted closer, thighs splayed open around the chair. Making a little scoffing noise, she moved on to a new block of space by his spine. “You get more and more mysterious by the minute,” she noted, rolling her stiff shoulders before moving the needles back to his skin. “What kind of one-legged physics grad gets giant dragon tattoos and drives beefed up motorcycles?”

He made a noise of contemplation. “Well, after the accident, I guess you could say I became a little bit of an adrenaline junkie. Though the bike preceded the accident— caused it actually— so I guess I’ve always been like that.”

She tried to picture skinny high school Hiccup riding a motorcycle, but all she could come up with was a regular bicycle with a basket on the front for his textbooks. “I’ve never actually ridden a motorcycle,” she mentioned absently. 

“Really? I’ll take you sometime, once this thing is finished.”

He must have felt her pause in her work, because he froze. Hiccup twisted to look at her, giving her a wide-eyed and gaping expression. 

“I— I didn’t mean that in like a date way,” he blurted. Waving his hands and shrugging his shoulders, he winced. “I’m not— I wasn’t hitting on you. Not that you’re not hitting-on-worthy, I just— Snotlout’s the creep— I was just trying to offer—”

“I got it, I got it,” she interrupted. She tried to hide the amusement that was threatening to creep into her eyes. Giving him a flick on the back of his head, she made him turn back around so she could continue her work. 

So the cool and collected physics genius _did_ get flustered. Astrid attempted to resist the smile that kept trying to tug at her mouth. As “the hot chick artist”, she received plenty of invitations and unsolicited comments. The bronze knuckle rings, the angry feminist t-shirts, the various weapon-shaped accessories she wore at work— none of it seemed to deter the customers like Snot that wanted to score. Seeing Hiccup blush and stick his prosthetic foot in his mouth, though. That was more flattering than the smoothest pick-up line.

That was the second night. The third, she was actually looking forward to. She’d confirmed the appointment with Hiccup and highlighted it on the schedule. It was her last slot on a Friday night, so she’d have to close up after he left. She’d had worse Fridays.

She didn’t even have to gesture towards the chair that time. He pulled off his shirt and hung it over the headrest before swinging one leg over the side. Astrid couldn’t help but notice the movement— she wondered if he mounted his bike the same way. 

“Ready to get this thing done?” she sighed as she flexed her fingers and pulled up her stool. It’d already been a long day, but she’d been excited about getting to see the finished dragon. 

“You have no idea,” he answered with a heavy exhale of his own. 

It was a good way to end the work day. Hiccup was easy to talk to and joke around with. She was going to be kind of sad to see him go after his tattoo was done. There was still a lot of space to be filled, though, and it became a long session. Eret finished up his last client and turned off the open sign while she was just reaching a halfway point. She had to take a break to stretch, and Hiccup stared over his shoulder in the mirror at his almost-completed piece. 

Astrid nursed her water bottle and watched him. “So, why the dragon?”

As if realizing her gaze was on him, he flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, wandering back towards her station. His smile was sheepish. “Uh, my family’s descended from Vikings. They called it ‘the Night Fury’. It was supposedly my ancestors’ crest.”

She lifted her brows. “Supposedly? You don’t sound that hyped about it.”

Hiccup shrugged, leaning back against her counter. “Eh, I was never big on our history. My dad was. He was all about the Hooligan tribe and the family tree and all that.” His eyes dropped to the floor, and he swallowed— Astrid watched his adam’s apple bob and tilted her head at his suddenly fallen expression. “He died a few months ago. The Night Fury’s for him.”

Her stomach twisted. She got the occasional client requesting a special piece for a parent or loved one that had passed. It wasn’t unusual. But it was never an easy job. She liked the dragon a lot more when she thought it was his favorite video game character. 

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. 

He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Yeah. Me too.” 

For a minute, the shop was quiet and sad and awkward. She shuffled from foot to foot and chewed at the mouth of her water bottle. “I’m supposed to offer you a tap-out at this point,” she said after a moment. “At this point, we could go another hour or two and finish, but your back’s gonna be kind of inflamed. It’ll hurt. I’m supposed to suggest we schedule another session.”

Hiccup shook his head, immediately straightening and gesturing towards the chair. “No way. Let’s go.”

Astrid took a deep breath and chucked her empty bottle in the trash. “You got it.”

They were quiet for the last stretch. She was tired and he was probably thinking about his dad. Instead of taking a seat on her stool, she asked him if he was okay with her sitting behind him on the chair. It was easier to reach, and she didn’t have to bend over with her already aching muscles. Luckily for her, he agreed, and she turned on her gun for what she hoped would be the last time that night. 

She should’ve stayed on her stool. Oh, she could reach better alright. Sitting with her thighs open against Hiccup’s ass, she had plenty of elbow room, perfect vantage point, and she could lean against the chair when her spine throbbed. But that close— just inches from Hiccup’s warm body— she could hear every little noise, feel every little flinch. 

He was extra sensitized. He’d already been at it for hours, and she knew every touch of the gun felt ten times worse with his skin so red and tender. She asked him a second time if he wanted to finish another day, but he shook his head and stubbornly held on. So she sighed and continued. 

She didn’t even notice at first. This was her job— it happened all the time. But after a few moments in the dead quiet, her ears started to perk. He grunted. Hissed. Cussed under his breath and groaned every time she dragged her rag across his skin. Astrid started to blush. She felt terrible, knowing that his sounds were caused by pain— certainly not pleasure— but they gave her a very clear idea of what Hiccup sounded like during _sex._

He squirmed and shifted. Twitched and tightened his grip on the chair. Astrid’s cheeks felt warm, and she tried very hard not to think about the distracting heat that he kept unknowingly grinding back into. She’d been a tattoo artist for years now, and never had she experienced something like this. 

She wondered if he could hear how her breath turned heavy and nervous. She wondered if he would open his eyes and see the pink in her face. She wondered if he knew how sexy every muttered swear was to her ears, how terrible every movement felt between her thighs. Guilt and embarrassment flooded her veins with every racing heartbeat. Arousal made her tired body suddenly very awake.

When she colored in the very last space on his dragon’s wing, she nearly threw herself off of the chair in relief. “Done!” she announced, shutting off her gun and throwing her hands up. “Done, _thank the gods_ I’m done.”

And she was well versed in the obvious link between pain and pleasure. And she knew very well that tattoos and sex went hand and hand. But nothing could prepare her for the look on her customer’s face when he pushed away from the chair and thanked her over his shoulder. 

“So,” she breathed, licking her lips and clenching her hands into anxious fists. “About that ride.”


	2. Tailpipes

**Tailpipes**

**-**

“Oh my gods, he’s pacing. He’s pacing, Eret, it’s so cute.”

Astrid pulled off her latex gloves and raised a brow at her coworkers. Heather and Eret were both standing at the front desk, staring towards the front of the shop and shaking their heads. Interest piqued, she tossed the used gloves in the trash by her station and walked over. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned between them. 

“What’s going on?”

Eret slung his arm around her, drawing her in. “Remember Giant Dragon Back with the sweet bike?”

“Hiccup?” Her brows shot up, and her heart fluttered. Of course, she’d done about a dozen dragon tattoos since she last saw him two weeks ago, and they had a number of motorcycle-riding clients. Maybe she’d guessed too quickly, but she couldn’t lie to herself and say he didn’t occasionally cross her mind. She immediately realized that her pitch probably climbed too high in excitement, so she cleared her throat and swept back her bangs self consciously. “Snot’s cousin?”

“Oh, she remembers,” Heather teased, voice low and smile villainous. The brunette lifted her chin towards the glass door. “Watch.”

Astrid warily slid her gaze to the front, not sure what she was looking for. A heartbeat passed, and another, and then just as she was about to roll her eyes, a tall figure passed by. Slender, with red-brown hair and a leather jacket. One hand raised to the back of his neck, the other holding a black helmet. 

Her stomach did a flip, and she straightened. “He’s back.”

“Think he wants another tattoo?” Heather asked a little too innocently.

“Maybe,” Eret said over Astrid’s head. “Now that he’s got a taste of the adrenaline, he’s probably hooked.”

“I don’t think it’s the ink he wants a taste of.”

“Shut up!” Astrid hissed, giving her best friend a slap on the arm. She narrowed her eyes, trying to lean and catch even another half-second of his image. “What’s he doing? Is he waiting for someone, you think?”

“You’d know better than me,” Heather snorted. “I wasn’t the one pressed up all _intimate_ -like against his ass.”

“And that’s where I leave this conversation,” Eret coughed, pulling his arm away and grabbing his clipboard. He called for the client waiting on the pleather couch by the gumball machine.

“It was _for_ the _tattoo_ ,” she grit out. Hiccup passed by the door again, and her heart did another little skip. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t enjoy it.” Heather watched the glass door with just as much interest, tongue absently pushing and pulling the bar in her lower lip. “Your heavy breathing, his bare skin… The gun buzzing between you… Your pu–”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Astrid interrupted flatly. 

Snickering, she shrugged and leaned on the counter. “The motorcycle ride that never was… It’s totally romantic. Now maybe you can ask if _he_ wants a ride first.”

Sucking in a breath, Astrid started when Hiccup reappeared, and the doorbell chimed as he pushed his way inside. She gaped and immediately started smacking Heather. “Go. Go. Go away.”

“Hi, welcome, how can we help you?” the girl chirped instead, throwing her elbow into Astrid’s side. 

Hiccup paused, open mouth trying to work for a moment before he finally stumbled across a, “Hey.” He slowly approached the desk, probably surprised to find them both standing there. His eyes were fixed on Astrid. They slipped to Heather for just a second after he set his helmet down on the counter, but then they flicked right back to her. “You’re working tonight.”

Her lips pulled into a smile of their own volition. She found a pencil to fiddle with and nodded. “Yeah. Saturdays.”

“Astrid,” Heather cooed, tilting her head. “Somebody you know?”

She shot the brunette a glare, but quickly gestured towards her. “Heather, this is Hiccup. Snotlout Jorgenson’s cousin. Hiccup, Heather.”

A toothy grin split across Hiccup’s face. “You actually remembered.” Chuckling, he ran a hand through his helmet hair and glanced at the tile floor. “That’s one less worry. I kinda wondered if you’d do the awkward thing where you pretend to know someone until you place their face, or until they conveniently mention their name.”

“Nope. Hiccup.” She tapped her pencil against a scrap piece of paper that Heather had been doodling on. “Night Fury. Vikings. Dorky physics t-shirts.”

“Ah, ha. Nice.” Nodding, he pulled at his jacket to show off the mechanic’s shirt beneath. It was a plain blue button-down, with his name embroidered in cursive over the front pocket. She could see the neckline of his undershirt beneath. “Sadly, no ingenious math joke to accompany this particular ensemble.”

Astrid sighed forlornly, giving him her best puppy eyes. “Where else will I get my bi-weekly witty physics-related puns?”

Hiccup tapped his fingers on the counter, narrowing his gaze and lifting his brows. “I know a guy.”

“Hey, cool bike!” Heather suddenly interrupted, speaking just a little too loudly. “Is that yours?”

Instantly, he turned awkward again, clearing his throat and shifting his weight to his other foot. She tried to remember which one was the prosthesis. “Yeah. That’s actually why I was stopping by. I mean, my back’s all healed now, so…”

Astrid felt her cheeks warm at her best friend’s brazenness, but she couldn’t keep back her smile. “You remembered our date.”

Hiccup’s eyes went wide, and he began to stammer. “Our date. Date– that is– date like an appointment. Our appointment to, uh, ride bike. Bike ride.” He must have noticed what she thought was an imperceptible change in her expression, because then he blurted. “Or like a _date_ date. That works too, I’m _completely_ up for an appointment like a date date. Um.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Wincing, he shook his head and gestured broadly with his free hand. “Do you– do you wanna take that rain check now?”

She started to beam, to say _yes absolutely_ , but then her excitement deflated. Her shoulders dropped. “I’m on til close,” she replied with no small amount of disappointment. 

He didn’t seem perturbed, however. “I can come back after,” he suggested, a little hopefully. 

Her smile started to grow again, and she started to accept his offer. She was interrupted by a muttered _oh my gods._

“I will take your shift,” Heather groaned, using both hands to push Astrid away from the desk. “Please, for the love of Frigga, get your bag and put your ass on this man’s motorcycle.” She lowered her voice and growled, “Before the sexual tension kills us all.”

Astrid locked her knees so she couldn’t be pushed any further. “You’ve been on since we opened,” she protested quietly, feeling guilty but so so willing. 

Heather rolled her eyes and gave the blonde a swat on the butt. “Get out. Go. I will punch you if you linger a moment longer.” When the buts continued, she called out, “Eret, tell Astrid to go with this dapper-looking gentleman caller!”

“Astrid!” He shouted back, in the middle of placing a stencil on a client’s foot. “Go with the dapper-looking gentleman caller!”

She sighed as if it was a heavy burden, but she snuck her best friend a bitten-back smile and gave her hand a squeeze. Disappearing into the back, she quickly threw her things into her bag. She paused in front of the back room mirror, finger-combing her bangs into place and running chapstick over her lips. Astrid adjusted her shorts, straightened her cut-off concert tee, and then tried to attempt a casual expression as she walked back out to the front. 

Hiccup gave her a shy grin, tapping the black helmet on the counter. “Ready?”

“Think so,” she answered, giving Heather a wave. She curled her fingers around the strap of her bag and paused in front of him. “Swear you’re not an axe murderer? I’ve heard serial killers can be very charming.”

“Even if I admitted it, would you believe me?” He tilted his head towards the door and grabbed his helmet, leading the way out. “The good news is, if you turn up dead, Heather knows my name and my place of occupation.”

She waited in the doorway, raising a brow. “Maybe I should reconsider.”

Hiccup shrugged, light from the setting sun making strands of his hair gleam copper. “Maybe. I could very possibly be an axe murderer. But I could also be a skinny math nerd with zero survival skills to speak of.” He walked backwards towards the parking spot where his bike was parked– a shiny and sleek looking classic model. “Really, I think _I_ should be the one concerned for my safety.”

After he finally assured her that he would not, in fact, murder her and dump her body in a dumpster (he claimed to prefer shady piers after midnight), he was able to lure her over to the bike. She watched him swing his leg over with excitement bubbling in her chest. It sank a little beneath his weight, and he ducked his head into his helmet before reaching behind him to unbuckle a silver back-up from the saddlebag. 

“Here. Let’s make this all legal-like.” 

She pursed her lips against a wry smile, accepting the helmet and fitting it over her head. It took her a second of fumbling with the straps to get it to fit under her chin, but then she figured out the buckle and was able to fix the clasp. It made her head feel heavy and wobbly. She looked to the bike. 

“How do I…?”

“Just like a bicycle,” he replied, patting the space behind him. Scooting up, he nudged the kickstand back and rested his hands on the handlebars. “Just bring your leg over. Make sure you don’t press your calf against the side. Get your foot on the pedal and push yourself up.”

She took a step forward, taking a nervous breath. She could hardly stop grinning. Lightly resting her hands on his shoulders, she leaned onto him and swung her right leg over the side the way she watched him do. The bike swayed– she yelped– but he chuckled and reached blindly for her. His fingers brushed her thigh, patting her to let her know it was fine, and she was able to ease herself up onto the bike. 

She found herself– in Heather’s words– ‘pressed up all intimate-like against his ass’. All at once she flashed back to the night she finished his tattoo, remembering too well the way her thighs pressed against his hips, the way arousal throbbed and left a dampness in her underwear. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she fidgeted in her seat. 

“Comfortable?” he asked over his shoulder. His voice was muffled by her helmet, but she nodded. 

He stomped on something with his right foot, and then the machine beneath them roared to life. Astrid couldn’t help but tighten her grip on his shoulders, adrenaline already making electricity jolt through her veins. His hands tightened on the throttle, and then they were suddenly lurching forward.

Embarrassingly, she immediately yelped. Her hands jumped from his shoulders to his stomach, fisting tightly in the fabric of his shirt, but she was suddenly too terrified to even worry. Air rushed into her lungs and they flew too fast too fast through the shopping center parking lot. Her arms locked around Hiccup’s waist as she half whimpered, half laughed, and she could feel him chuckling more than she could hear it. The wind whipped her hair surprisingly violently. When they turned onto the main road, she couldn’t hold back another frightened squeal. How could the bike lean so far to the left and not fall over? 

At first, she could tell he was taking it easy on her. The speedometer read ten miles _under_ the limit, and he made his turns especially carefully. It didn’t _feel_ like they were going slow, but the speed of the vehicles around them didn’t lie. She pressed tightly against him, both afraid for her life and riding a wave of potent euphoria. Her pulse raced wildly, but the wind drowned it out. All she could feel was her shirt fluttering against her back, the heat of him through his jacket. The shop, the gym, her school, all of it was dust behind them. 

“You good?” he called back, and she nodded fervently. It was then that he proved just how easy he’d been going. The bike revved, and they accelerated down the highway. 

Hiccup wove in and out of traffic, cutting so close to cars at times that she thought she might scream. Even with her facemask pulled down, wind still slipped inside and burned her eyes, making her squint. Her fingers dug into his sides, feeling flesh and muscle and ribs. The vibrations of the bike beneath her reminded her of the buzz of her gun. The wheels beneath them didn’t even seem to touch the asphalt.

She wasn’t sure how long she spent holding onto Hiccup and gasping with delight. All she knew was that the sun was still low in the sky when they left the tattoo parlor, and it had been set for a while when he finally slowed to a stop under the florescent lights of a near-empty gas station. Staying still was an odd feeling after flying for so long. The skin of her arms and legs felt a little numb, and her lower back ached. It took a few seconds for her hands to remember how to uncurl, and she was a little out of breath. 

Hiccup felt a little blindly for the kickstand with his left foot, making her remember which exactly was the prosthetic. Then he slouched, tugging off his helmet and grinning back at her. “Still alive back there?”

Her cheeks hurt from holding a smile for so long. She shook her head. “That was… _amazing_. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out for this long.”

He used his fingers to rustle his flattened hair. “It’s no needle high, but it’s definitely a little addicting.” 

Hiccup had been cute in the shop. A little nerdy, a little skinny, but he had an easy way about him that was charming and attractive. But when he dismounted the bike and wiped his hands on his jeans, she realized he wasn’t just cute– he was _sexy_. He was motorcycle boots, adrenaline junkie, crooked grin sexy. His shirt was wrinkled from where she’d been holding it tight, and that place between her thighs was still tingling with the rumble of the bike and the friction of Hiccup’s jeans. Her mouth felt dry.

“If this is a date, I’m supposed to feed you, right?” He stretched his legs, walking a couple of laps around the bike, but she didn’t want to move. She watched him circle her and bit her lip. “What are you feeling? Pasta? Mexican? Burgers? I know a really cool diner off the beaten path, if you’re willing to up the axe murderer factor.”

Closing the space between them, he hung his helmet on the handlebar and leaned against his leather seat. “Hmm?” His brows were high. “What do you want?”

Astrid held his gaze, her whole body inexplicably light. His eyes were so green beneath the bright florescence, and he had a little stubble at his jaw that needed shaving. She reached for him, tilting his face down so she could lean forward and mold her mouth against his. Like the rest of him, his lips were warm. Pulling away just enough to breathe a few words between them, she told him, “You.”


End file.
